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The Beauty
 
 

The beauty was confused. She was accustomed to love, had been all her life. Flowers and tender hands, the gentleness of all around her. But this was different. Very different. Not at all like the it was before. No one called to her. And few smiled. Except for some of the older ones. There was satisfaction in their smiles. The beauty saw this.

She remembered what had been. Or at least parts of what was. It was in the place below. She had come down to the hill and made her way to the village. The village she loved. She had worn her lovely feathered dress. Those feathers. The feathered garment that no other girl, in the place above at least, would wear. Those lovely feathers, her hair braided and no make-up. Never any make-up. This beauty needed none.

She danced and drank with the villagers in the open air. Flirting, hugging, kissing any boy that came her way. Until there were no more boys, just an old man with a staff, and all the fires were out and it was time to leave.

So the beauty walked in the village, alone, as she done many times in the days before. As, it seemed to her, she always would. "One day I'll ask that old man with the staff to dance," she thought, laughing, running in the warm air of the night. "And if he refuses, I'll dance with his staff." Then, yelling at the approaching dawn, "And if the staff refuses, I'll die."

And the dawn answered with a gust of wind that danced through the feathers of her dress and enveloped the beauty. The silky touch of the winds, caressing her face and hair, making her laugh. "You can't die," the winds whispered to her, "We love you, beauty."

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Walking in deep, foreign footprints, alien steps, to the water and back, the beauty knew that this was best part of a terrestrial night. So familiar. So exhilarating. Lots of sounds and that salt water smell. The dog that always barked, the sound of the gulls as their day began, and the two old sisters who watched from their hut's low door, pointing, whispering, and laughing. Once the beauty waved and said, "Hello." But the sisters just teased and mocked her, with one saying: "It's an unnatural thing, you being here!" and the other shouting: "Yes! Unnatural! An insult to everything!" They laughed - even cackled, but the beauty was not bothered. "Maybe it was all these old women could do, maybe they are sad for some reason; and maybe in their sadness they teased and mocked others" she thought. "Maybe they were God's mockers. If that is so, these old sisters do their deeds very well. The Creator is probably pleased."

And, especially on nights like this, when the heat had little need for the sun, the beauty would stop for a swim. Stepping from the feathered dress that was now a feathery circle at her feet she walked into the warm ocean. How the water adored the pretty girl. "So nice to see you," the splashes said. "How we missed you.What can we do to make you happy?" And the pretty girl would splash and laugh and swim.

Then, stepping into the feathery circle, pulling up the feathered dress, the beauty continued on her journey home. Past that little bend of the giant rock where the waves were noisiest and where fishermen whistled and smiled and asked how she was doing in that morning. "You are surely beautiful," they would say, wanting to at least say more, but not able to. Up into the grove and into that private garden where she knew she shouldn't walk but always did. A beauty only a private garden could dream of. And up over that grassy knoll and the loneliest stretch of her journey home.

Now was when she would usually sing. Some song, most likely some last request at the village dance. Her last dance. The last dance. She would sway and swing her hips, towards the path that led to the hill. A hill not high enough for views.

On the hill top she greated a cat who seemed to think that this was its home. "Hello, little cat," the beauty said, bending to scratch the cat's neck. "Hello, beauty," the cat answered, it's eyes sparkling. The pretty girl thought for a moment about how she had never before noticed the sparkle in this cat's eyes, then stood and prepared to go home.

She raised her arms above her head and started to call upon the dawn. But before she could, hands grabbed her from behind. Two then three - four and more.

Arms wrapped her waist "Please stop," the beauty cried. But the hands continued to grab her. They pulled at her head, her arms, her feathered dress. The feathered dress was ripped and torn. She tried to flee but couldn't. The hands came from everywhere. Seemingly dozens of hands grabbing and as many voices screaming at the pretty girl.

"How dare you! How dare you come here in such vainity! How dare you come upon the face of the earth!" they cried. "You do not belong here!"

Then something crashed throughout her body. A light, something bright, an engery. The beauty didn't know, she was afraid to look. The force jolted through her leg again, but with more force, making her scream - or at least, she thought she screamed. The pain and light continued. The screaming voices continued: "You are forbidden here! Forbidden! Forbidden!" And she saw the cat's eyes sparkle in delight.

This was all the beauty remembered about that night on the earth.

And now she was here, at the rim of creation, uncomfortable, cold. Very cold. She wanted to dance. She wanted to run and feel the sand at her feet. But those acts seemed inappropriate, at least at the moment. No one was calling to her. And few smiled. Except for some of the old ones. Why did the old ones smile so?

The beautiful goddess was confused. And she felt tired. So eternally tired. Maybe she should rest, at least for a while. She would ave to be more careful from now on when she desired to see the earth, and the village she loved.

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